


Fox In The Snow

by Flamebyrd



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Awkwardness, Future Fic, Gen, Reunions, Trope Bingo Round 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3847198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flamebyrd/pseuds/Flamebyrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting in a supermarket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fox In The Snow

**Author's Note:**

> For my free space in Trope Bingo Round 4.

It was ten o'clock in the morning on a cloudy Saturday that threatened to turn rainy at any moment, and Methos was grocery shopping.

He'd intended to just buy the ingredients for this week's assignment, but to be polite he'd asked his housemates if they needed anything, and now his cart was half full and he was trying to remember where this supermarket kept rice milk.

He'd just decided it might be with the organic and "health" food when his skull hummed with sensation.

Methos had spent centuries training himself not to react. He started plotting exits. If he didn't attract the other Immortal's attention he could probably make it out of the supermarket without them identifying him, and a Challenge avoided was a Challenge he didn't have to flee.

Keeping his head down, he stole a glance in the other Immortal's direction and almost tripped over his own feet. It was the stance he recognised first, before he even saw the face.

Duncan was making no attempt at subtlety, scanning the crowd with an anxious air. Since he hadn't noticed Methos yet, Methos took a moment to indulge in some pure aesthetic appreciation. The ponytail was back, he noted. The clothing was modern and nondescript. He was obviously keeping himself in shape, which was a relief.

Methos raised a hand in welcome and was rewarded with Duncan's expression blossoming into a smile.

The smile was replaced with uncertainty a second later, but it was a gratifying first response.

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," Methos murmured, voice pitched low enough to avoid being casually overheard. "What brings you to Port Francisco?"

"An old friend asked me to take her classes at the U for a few weeks," said Duncan. "What about you?"

"I live here," said Methos.

Duncan's brow furrowed. "I thought you were..." His expression shifted as he realised he had no idea where Methos had been, what he'd been doing.

Methos clapped his hands together. Duncan was too well-trained to jump, but he did look startled. "Well! Since you're here, you may as well help me shop."

Duncan glanced down at Methos's cart, taking in the flour, sugar, eggs and milk with obvious amusement. "Is it someone's birthday?"

"I'm in culinary school," said Methos. "This week's practical is pound cake, so I'm practising."

" _You're_ in culinary school," said Duncan.

"I'm rather enjoying it," said Methos. "The last time I did this we still sweetened everything with honey and got paid in salt. I don't miss that at all, do you?"

Duncan still looked equal parts baffled and incredulous.

"Live a little, MacLeod. There is so much more to food than just avoiding starvation."

Duncan's expression began to tip towards outrage and Methos had to bite his lip to keep from breaking into a wide grin.

\--

He invited Duncan back to the house because it seemed the safest way to avoid blundering into awkward topics of conversation.

"I have house mates," Methos warned him, as they walked up the drive. "They don't know. Oh, and the name's Matthew Adamson." He unlocked the door and waved MacLeod in. "I'm back!" he called. "And I have company."

" _Finally_ ," said Ajit. "Prudence used the last of the milk. You were supposed to be back half an hour ago."

"Sorry," said Methos. "I ran into MacLeod at the supermarket." He waved in MacLeod's direction by way of explanation. "I made him buy us mussels for lunch, at least."

Ajit looked a little mollified.

"Oh!" squeaked Prudence, appearing in the doorway. "I was at your lecture on Thursday. You're amazing." She gave Methos a mock glare. "Professor MacLeod was the guest lecturer I was telling you about. You didn't tell me you knew him!"

When he really thought about it, Methos did remember Prudence talking about "Professor McHot" who was giving a guest lecture series at the U. He hadn't given it much notice. "You didn't tell me his name," Methos pointed out. "How was I to know?"

"How _do_  you two know each other?" asked Ajit. He finished making his coffee and put the milk in the fridge, one of the things that made Ajit a _good_  housemate.

Methos barely even had to think about it. "He's a friend of my Uncle Joe's." His housemates were all under the impression that Methos had been orphaned as a teen and was subsequently raised by his father's older brother Joe, a fact which had inspired a furious rant from one Joseph Dawson that Methos still treasured.

"We haven't seen each other in a long time," added Duncan. "It must have been, what, five years?"

It was getting closer to ten. He'd grown tired of being in Duncan's orbit. Tired of Duncan watching him like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Methos's hidden agenda to reveal itself. Tired of not even being able to blame him for it.

It was very easy to drop out of contact with a person and make it seem natural. You just took longer to return phone calls, promise to catch up soon but never firm up the plans, let the letters slowly drift away to nothing until you were just a distant regret in their mind.

Prudence sighed noisily. "I guess if you haven't been able to make him care about history I should just give up now."

Methos decided to save Duncan the task of trying to figure out that statement. "History is so subjective it's useless," he pointed out, in weary tones. "I'd rather sit down with a drink and some good fiction."

Prudence shot Duncan a 'you see what I have to deal with?' look. "History lets us avoid making the same mistakes our ancestors made."

"Oh? Hasn't stopped us yet," said Methos. "We've been having the same arguments for centuries."

"I can kind of see his point," Duncan interjected. "History is a tool. We shouldn't make the mistake of thinking it's pure fact."

"Anybody who wants mussels needs to vacate the kitchen now," interrupted Methos, emptying the bag into a colander in the sink. The kitchen was barely big enough for two people, but at least it was open to the living room.

He set Duncan to chopping shallots while he washed the mussels and assembled the _bouquet garni_.

"Does he cook for you often?" Duncan asked Ajit.

"Almost _too_ often," groaned Ajit. "He's ruining me for everything except family dinners."

Duncan laughed. "So he's a good cook. Does he clean up after himself?"

"Cook doesn't clean," said Methos automatically.

"Oh, is that how it is?"

"Yes," said Methos. "That's how it is. Are you done with those shallots?"

\--

Methos offered to walk Duncan to the faculty housing, taking the bag of mussel shells out to the trash at Prudence's request.

"So, you hate history, do you?" said Duncan, amused.

"If you had to live with two undergraduate history students you'd do anything to avoid talking about history with them too," said Methos. "I was there. It's over now."

"You like them, really," replied Duncan, grinning.

"Of course I do," said Methos. "I wouldn't do this if I didn't enjoy it."

Duncan absorbed that for a moment. "I just don't understand how you do it. How you can just become someone else."

Methos snorted. "Everyone does it, MacLeod. Even mortals. Can you honestly say that you're the same person with me as you are with Amanda? With Joe? Shared history, shared interests, there are a thousand different things that affect the person you are in different contexts."

Duncan gave him a long look, then shook his head with a laugh. "You were right about one thing, back then. I don't know you."

It was the first time that statement sounded anything less than a challenge. This time it sounded wondering, like Methos was a gift waiting to be unwrapped.

"You probably don't believe this, but I missed you," added Duncan.

For the first time in decades, Methos found himself without a ready answer. He knew would he could say to make Duncan leave. He didn't know what to say to make him stay.

The longer they stood in silence, the more Duncan stiffened, his face closing off with poorly-concealed hurt.

"How much longer are you in town?" asked Methos. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and watched the toes of his shoes kick up the dry leaves from the sidewalk.

"Another week," Duncan replied, his expression turning curious. "Maybe more. Why?"

"I don't know if you've heard, Port Francisco is a craft beer town. I thought we could try some of it out."

Duncan relaxed a little. "Yeah? Any of it worth the price tag?"

Methos widened his eyes and affected dismay. "Would I invite you out for inferior beer, MacLeod?"

"Yeah, yeah. I suppose I'm footing the bill for this little excursion?"

"You'll just have to wait and see," said Methos.

**Author's Note:**

> "Fox in the Snow" by Belle & Sebastian happened to be the song that was playing as I was posting, and it turned out to be weirdly appropriate so I ran with it.


End file.
